


Beneath Your Beautiful

by ElenaCee



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: "Let's Wing It!" Fic Exchange, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Season 2 Hiatus Fic, Wings, devil reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 06:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenaCee/pseuds/ElenaCee
Summary: Lucifer is missing. An explanation is pending. And this time, Chloe intends to look beneath Lucifer's facade.Part of the "Let's Wing It!" Fic Exchange.





	Beneath Your Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mia_Vaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Vaan/gifts).



> This work was inspired by this amazing prompt by Mia_Vaan: "Beneath Your Beautiful" by Labyrinth feat. Emeli Sande, that I totally did not manage to do any justice. I'm sorry. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. <3
> 
> I've linked the video at the end of the fic since embeds don't work in Author's Notes.
> 
> This fic is also to say thank you to Mia_Vaan for her beautiful fics in the Lucifandom.

 

 

**

### Chapter 1 - Searching

She was waiting.

Next to her on the side table sat an open wine bottle and two glasses, one of them empty.

After two hours, she re-corked the bottle (still more than half full) and went to rinse her used glass. Apparently, two hours of waiting for him to show up were her limit.

This time, though, she didn’t stop waiting because she was disappointed or angry with him. This time, she stopped because she was getting more and more worried. She’d been worried about him after he’d disappeared without a word like this once before. Then, her worry had been unfounded. This, though, was different.

He’d never gone back on his word before.

Like she had tried to tell him, after all this time of being partners (friends; nearly lovers?), she’d come to know him fairly well. Among other things, she’d learned that there was a fine line he walked with the things he said or didn’t say. He was capable of telling untruths when he was being sarcastic, or ironic, or joking, but he would always clear up any possible misunderstandings immediately. At all other times, everything he said was the literal truth, or at least part of the truth.

You had to pay attention to his wordings, though, especially to the bits he left out. If he didn’t explicitly say he’d do something (like be there to talk later), he wouldn’t. If he said he wouldn’t do something (like accompany her into danger), he might do something slightly different instead (like follow her into danger).

But if he said he would do something (like tell her everything), he would. Invariably.

Three hours ago, he’d left her a message saying that he would come over “now”. He still hadn’t turned up.

Something was wrong. Time for action.

 

* * *

 

He had no idea how much time had passed.

Time was relative anyway, especially if you factored in different planes of existence. In Hell, time zapped past like quicksilver, while in Heaven, it crawled like molasses. And on Earth, it clipped along at a pace about midway between the two. He was used to being surprised by how much or how little time had passed whenever he moved between planes. (Not that that had been an issue since he’d had his wings cut off, but the point still stood.)

Now, though, he had no idea where he’d been; whether he’d been on the Earthly plane all along or not, or even what had happened at all. Oh yes, there were clues. Scorch marks and bruises and sand burns all over his painfully exposed skin told him eloquently that he’d missed a few things happening to his body while he’d been unconscious. (It didn’t seem like his body had had much fun without him, though, so that was all right.) Also, there were these bloody wings on his back that he’d tried so hard to get rid of for good, back again and fully functional, bugger it all.

He figured that he must either have been to the Celestial plane for a heavenly pit stop, or that a part of Heaven in the shape of one of his siblings must have made a house call to reattach the blasted things on God’s command. After which whoever it was had proceeded to dump him here in the middle of nowhere, apparently for shits and giggles.

Either way, looked like God had flipped him a nice, feathery bird in return for the one Lucifer had flipped Him a while ago. Who knew He had such an ironic sense of humor?

“Nice one, Dad,” he muttered, or rather, croaked. Turned out even a creature accustomed to the fires of Hell thirsted for water eventually. Turned out there was such a thing as too much sun exposure even for the Devil. (Ungrateful bastard, the sun. That’s what he got for creating the bloody thing in the first place?)

Right. What would the detective do? Take stock of what you have, and of what you need, and then make a plan? Something like that, probably. He was pretty sure she had a protocol for these things. She might even have told him. (He really should start paying attention to the boring bits.)

Let’s see, then. Lots of things he didn’t have. He didn’t have his phone, or his jacket, shirt, belt, or shoes, or his hip flask, not even any water. That meant lots of things he couldn’t do. He couldn’t call anyone for a lift, or walk far on this sodding hot gravel ground on bare feet, or quench his thirst. What he needed was to get to the detective so he could keep his promise, and he needed a drink, not necessarily in that order. His only assets were his pants, his ring (fat lot of good _that_ would do him), and, oh yes, a brand new pair of wings, and flying, as any angel knew, was just like riding a bike.

Sounded like a plan.

It did occur to him that this was exactly what his Father was trying to do - force him to use his new wings to fly and learn to love them in the process, so he wouldn’t end up cutting these off as well. He didn’t care. He had places to be, a detective to see, and things to say. And the Devil knew that the end justified the means.

Besides, he could always cut them off again later, see if he didn’t.

 

* * *

 

The trail of Lucifer’s GPS signal ended when Chloe found his parked car and his suit jacket tossed into it with his phone still inside one of the pockets. From its history, she could tell that no one had contacted him for hours before it happened, and hers had been the last number he’d called.

Surveillance footage of the area surrounding the hospital revealed what had happened to him - a hooded figure had knocked him out with a single blow to the head, and then both Lucifer and his assailant had just vanished; one second there, gone the next. The camera equipment checked out, no dropouts on the feed. No Earthly explanation.

Strange things happening around Lucifer again, just when he’d been about to explain everything. Coincidence? She thought not. Someone had clearly tried to keep him from talking.

Chloe called the “so-not-saintly” Maze, who happened to be inside the very hospital in whose parking lot Lucifer had been taken, visiting Linda.

Maze didn’t know anything, but she turned grim when she heard what had happened; even grimmer than usual.

“It’s not my place to give you any hints, Chloe,” Linda said, lying pale and obviously very hurt in her bed with Maze hovering over her. “But if he said he’d tell you everything, he will. And, Chloe, when he does, I want you to remember this: nothing will change. It’s just your perception that will change. It may be a little overwhelming at first, but I know you’re strong enough to handle it.”

Chloe nodded. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. “Well, I gotta find him first. And I have no clue where to even start looking.”

Maze slapped her shoulder. “You’ve got a bounty hunter on your team, girlfriend.” Hesitating, she threw Linda a glance.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Linda said, smiling. “Go find him.”

 

* * *

 

When Lucifer opened his eyes - with no memory of having closed them in the first place -, he was surrounded by carrion birds.

They flew off as soon as he lashed out at them, thus convincing them that he wasn’t, in fact, a devilish corpse. The roar he sent after them was useless but satisfying, if only to get some of his own back. This whole thing was bloody embarrassing - the Devil getting pecked on by vultures. Good thing there were no witnesses, even if the flying hyenas couldn’t really injure him. He’d never live it down.

He acknowledged that he really needed a drink now. He’d even drink plain water at this point. He was so, so thirsty. What was that saying? In default of whisky the Devil puts up with water? Something like that. Also, if he didn’t get anything to drink soon, he’d keep dying of dehydration. Not that dying would destroy him permanently, but these involuntary timeouts did slow him down, and from the angle of the sun, he had already lost at least a day. The detective wouldn’t be pleased.

The detective. He’d better get back in shape and rehydrated before he came close enough to her to be vulnerable. Dying in her arms and staying dead this time would really be ironic. Besides, that wasn’t the kind of death he wanted to be dying in her arms.

_Ooh, what a nice thought._

No, he wasn’t going to be realistic, not now. Realism was for people who weren’t dying of thirst, who weren’t in the middle of nowhere, flying (with wings that they hadn’t wanted and had sworn never to use again) until they would conk out mid-flight and crash, people who weren’t clawing their way from one revival to the next. He damned well was going to indulge in his little fantasy of the detective accepting him; all of him; of her trusting him, letting him inside her walls, loving him, and letting him - him! - love her. He needed something to keep him going despite the pain and the thirst and the exhaustion, even if it was an unattainable fantasy.

She was so good, in the purest sense of the word. And he was so… not. Worlds lay between them, quite literally. Her selflessness put even the Celestial family to shame. Her priorities in life were impeccable. She was driven to doing the right thing, always, no matter the cost to herself. His bloody siblings, not to mention Dear Old Dad, could learn a thing or two from her.

And after he told her everything he needed to tell her for her to make an informed choice, she would probably _(oh dear Father, if there’s one thing I ask of You, please not)_ turn from him in fear and disgust.

But first, he had to actually get back to her, so, up on his blistered feet he got. Gathering himself, he took to the air once more, flying in the direction he could dimly sense Amenadiel to be, idly noticing that his wings felt heavier with each flight he took. Also, had it been this hard to breathe the last time? There seemed to be something wrong with Earth’s gravity as well.

_Oh, look. The sun’s dimming. Didn’t know it could do that. I certainly didn’t put a dimmer in it when I made it._

The ground approached fast. He supposed it was a good thing that he hadn’t gained much altitude yet.

 

* * *

 

“We’ll have to do a search pattern, Decker,” Maze growled. “Sucks, I know, but I can’t track him if I don’t have any tracks to follow. All I know is that he’s still alive.”

Chloe opened her mouth to ask her how she knew that much but closed it again, realizing that she didn’t want to hear the answer. Like Lucifer’s eye voodoo and all the other things about him she couldn’t explain, it was enough for her if it worked.

Instinctively, they had gathered by Lucifer’s Corvette, the last point of contact with him. Amenadiel had joined them in response to a call from Maze, while their stepmother was conspicuous in her absence. Chloe decided that Charlotte’s whole deal about suddenly not recognizing her children, or Dan, or any of them, was a can that she was not going to open at this time.

All she cared about right now was getting her partner back.

Amenadiel stood, eyes closed, arms by his side, like an imposing statue. “Something’s different,” he said softly. “Can’t you feel it, Mazikeen?”

Chloe noticed the look her roommate threw her before turning back to Amenadiel. “Like I said, I can only tell he’s alive.”

“He feels stronger somehow. I even think I can sense where he is,” Amenadiel said, eyes still closed, turning slowly. He stopped and opened his eyes. “He’s somewhere in this direction.”

“How…” Chloe began, then fell silent and instead pulled out her phone, opening her compass app and getting a bearing.

Amenadiel gave her a look that was remarkably similar to the one Maze had thrown her.

She returned it with a bright smile. “I’ve been working with Lucifer long enough to learn to use the tools at my disposal, even if I don’t understand how they work. I don’t really know how my phone works, either, so. If you don’t mind, let’s drive a few miles, get a new bearing, and triangulate, alright?”

 

* * *

 

### Chapter 2 - Finding

“Dad,” Lucifer forced out as he stared heavenwards at the cloudless sky, lying flat on his back, his wings limp on the ground on either side of him, “a little help here?”

His voice was all but gone, the tissues in his mouth and throat now so dry that they scraped against each other like sandpaper. Thirst was a raging beast tearing up his insides and dominating most of his thoughts. Swallowing was painful, not that he had any saliva left to swallow. His latest crash had broken his neck - he’d gotten better -, but unless a miracle in the form of, say, a heavy rainshower happened, he wasn’t getting airborne again. And he still didn’t have his shoes, so walking was out, too. There wouldn’t be any water readily available for the Devil on any of the other planes of existence he could reach now, either, not that he was in any shape to fight for it.

There was no response. Of course there wasn’t.

“Please?” he added, because the Devil was a gentleman even when dying of thirst. “Pretty please?”

Then he realized what he was doing. _You know what, Dad, forget it. Don’t want your help. Fine without it. Just gonna go suck on a cactus. As soon as I find one._ Exhausted, he let his head fall to one side.

His increasingly blurry vision managed to focus on the longish dark grey shapes next to him. It actually took him several minutes to make sense of what he saw.

“Hello,” he croaked then, levering himself up on hands and knees, his wings dragging across the coarse sand before he managed to fold them properly on his back, the bloody things.

The cactus failed to prick him, which was meet and right so to do. It also failed to offer any resistance to being cracked open by a thirsty Devil to reveal its white, spongy, and above all gloriously _wet_ interior.

Lucifer grinned, hardly noticing his lip splitting open. He pointedly did not offer any thanks.

 

* * *

 

Chloe had stopped her car in the middle of the desert road to take another bearing on Lucifer, AC on full. Around it, the air was shimmering with heat.

“He’s moving,” Amenadiel said, sounding confused. “Moving fast. I didn’t know he owned another car.”

“Maybe he stole one, or he’s on a bus, or a train,” Chloe speculated. “Or maybe he’s hitchhiking.”

“Maybe,” Amenadiel allowed, clearly not believing any of it but unable to deny the possibilities.

“In any case,” Chloe said, studying the paper map she had brought to draw her lines of bearing on, “our triangulation’s useless. He’s moving too fast for us to pinpoint him.” She sighed, running a hand through her already messy hair. Of course Lucifer wouldn’t make himself easy to find. The man always insisted on being difficult. (And that was part of his charm. God, she really hoped he was okay.)

“I say we call off the search,” Maze said from the back seat. “Looks like he’s getting himself home, no help required, and I have places to be.”

Chloe had seen Maze in Linda’s hospital room. She felt a pang of sympathy. But still, she needed to know for sure that Lucifer would be okay. “Is he, though?” she asked, looking at Amenadiel. “Can you tell how far away he is? Is he getting closer?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “I can feel his presence in the sense that I know which way I would have to go to find him. It’s a little like feeling the heat from a fire on your face. You know the direction where the fire is, but not how far away.”

Chloe hesitated. This way at least, she felt like she was doing something to help instead of sitting around leaving Lucifer to save himself. But maybe Maze was right. Maybe Lucifer had simply escaped from wherever his assailant had taken him with that uncanny knack he had of getting out of handcuffs and of opening all kinds of locks, and was now safely on his way back home.

While she was still considering this, Amenadiel said, “What on earth?”

Turning her head towards him, she saw him staring out the window on his side of the car. She leaned forward, trying to look past him to see what had him so astounded, but he twisted his upper body so his broad shoulders blocked her view.

“Maze!” he said curtly.

The next moment, Chloe’s roommate had jumped out of the car and was running, straight into the desert. And Amenadiel was still blocking her view, so she couldn’t see where Maze was going.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

He faced her, a pleading expression on his face. “I know it’s almost pointless to ask this of you, but please, if you value your sanity and the integrity of your worldview, please, please stay in the car. Don’t even look out of the window. Please.”

“Is this about Lucifer?”

He hesitated a moment too long.

“Then _like hell_ I will stay in the car,” she ground out, unbuckled her seatbelt, and opened the door. The hot air beyond it hit her like a wall.

He reached out to take hold of her forearm. “Chloe, please!”

She glared at him. “Let go of me, Amenadiel.”

His face set in an expression of determination, and his hand remained closed around her arm.

She resisted the urge to tug her arm free. “If this is about who he is, he was going to explain it all to me anyway. Let me go!”

He hesitated, but finally, he loosened his hold, mumbling something about meetings and discussing things beforehand.

Immediately, Chloe got out of her car into the desert heat and moved around the vehicle, trying to see where Maze had gotten to. The terrain was uneven, so it took her a moment to spot her, some hundred yards away, kneeling next to a figure lying on the ground. Chloe ran, Amenadiel close behind her.

As she approached, Maze turned, trying to shield the fallen figure from Chloe’s view the way Amenadiel had done, but her slight body didn’t prevent Chloe from seeing the white -...

.... wings…?

She halted. Not Lucifer, then.

Seizing his chance, Amenadiel stepped in front of her, once again blocking her. “Chloe. Please.”

 _Or is it?_ That hadn’t looked like a bird. The torso had looked human, even from the brief glimpse she’d gotten. The slope of the wide shoulders and the height had seemed familiar, even with the figure lying down, wings or no.

She felt her jaw set. “I told you….”

“No, I meant, please, wait. Just let me -”

“Get her away from here, Amenadiel,” Maze shouted from behind him. “I think he crashed because he got too close to her.”

“I…” Chloe began, then lost the thread of her thoughts. Crashed? Too close to her? “ _What?_ ”

“Oh, _bloody_ hell,” a very familiar voice groused, “what the _hell_ are these bloody things good for if I can’t even bloody _fly_ with ‘em for longer than a few bloody minutes at a time?!”

And for the first time in her life, Chloe Decker experienced a mental Blue Screen Of Death.

She watched, speechless, mind blank, as Lucifer - because, yes, it was Lucifer, of course it was - shakily picked himself up from the desert ground, groaning and cursing, leaning heavily on Maze.

As if drawn by a magnet, she walked up to him, pushing past Amenadiel, who merely sighed in resignation.

His hair was a glorious mess. He was covered in sand, raw from exposure, skin peeling off and bleeding in various places. He was also half naked, and as lean and toned as she had seen (and admired) him before.

And he had... wings.

Wings. White, majestic, gorgeous wings. They spread briefly to both sides of him, sand trickling out of the long pinions as he shook them out and folded them on his back. The possibility of them being some sort of prop or costume didn’t even occur to her this time. Those were real wings, no doubt about it. Real _angel_ wings. Alive and powerful and feathery and beautiful.

“Hello, Detective,” he said, smiling that strangely shy smile he’d taken to smiling at her with recently, the one that was such a far cry from his usual devilish glee grin that he almost appeared to be a different person when he used it. “Sorry I’m late. Mohammed did his best, but the mountain still obliged, it seems.”

She stared. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Not that I’m saying that you resemble a mountain in any way, shape, or form. I mean, you’re much less… mountainous… I’ll stop talking now.”

Joking to deflect, and it was working. She felt a giggle bubbling up and suppressed it. She was in the presence of… whatever he was, and she shouldn’t giggle. Besides… “You’re hurt,” she blurted.

“Detective,” he said gently, looking at her out of his, yes, beautiful dark eyes, “I assure you, I’m… ” He interrupted himself. “Oh, that’s right, sorry.”

His wings vanished.

She had raised her hands to touch him, quite unable to stop herself. When the gorgeous white of his wings seemingly winked out of existence, she made a sound of protest. The weak, pathetic noise coming out of her own mouth helped to dispel some of her awe, enough at least for her to realize what she’d been about to do and to drop her hands before she embarrassed herself, and him.

“Best not get used to them,” he went on, eye flicking from her hands back to her face. “Now that they’ve served their purpose, they’re coming right off again.”

“Like hell they are,” Maze growled, still holding him up. “Not doing that again. You're on your own with that.”

 _His scars._ He’d had wings before, Chloe realized. Maze had cut them off. Like he’d said.

It was true, all of it, everything he’d said.

All of it.

_Lucifer really was the Devil._

Oblivious to her renewed mini freak-out, Amenadiel had walked past Chloe to stand next to his brother. “So that’s why I could sense you so clearly. You got them back. And now she’s seen them. That’s just... _great_.”

Lucifer gave one of his expressive shrugs indicating how useless he considered crying over spilt milk to be.

Amenadiel sighed, but dropped it. “What happened to you, Luci? Why are you whole again? And by the way, you look terrible.”

Lucifer gave him a tight smile. “I’m fine,” he stated, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“I thought you didn’t lie,” Chloe finally managed a complete sentence. Now matter how much her mind might be free-wheeling, she would always be able to call him out on his bullshit. He looked like roadkill that had been left out in the sun for awhile; skin peeling, raw in some places, fresh bruises, fresh scrapes that oozed blood. Unable to stand upright unaided. Definitely not ‘fine.’

“Relatively fine,” Lucifer amended. “Compared to how much not fine I was a few hours ago, definitely fine now. So, not lying.”

“Just not telling the whole truth,” she said. From the way her lips felt, she was probably smiling. He’d be okay. Yeah, he was a little the worse for wear, he had wings, she’d seen them, and she’d need a moment at some point to process that and what it meant. But for now, she had him back. He was safe.

“Yes, but I’m working on that, Detective,” he said. “I promised I’d tell you everything, and I will.”

“How did this happen?” Amenadiel interrupted.

Lucifer sighed. “I have no idea. I was like this when I first came to. It’s either an unusually whimsical fuck-you from Dad, or He thinks I will need them for what’s coming, whatever that is.” He paused and raised a vague hand to his forehead. Maze took a step to compensate as she was forced to take more of his weight.

This caused Amenadiel to put a supporting arm around Lucifer’s shoulders. “Let’s get you out of this heat, Brother.”

“It’s much hotter in Hell, you know,” Lucifer protested, but Chloe could hear the strain in his voice that must have been there all the while, only she’d been too distracted _by him actually being the Devil_ to notice it. “I can _manage_ ,” he groused, trying to move away from Maze and to push Amenadiel’s arm off him.

“Stop fussing,” Maze growled.

“It’s all right, little brother,” Amenadiel said, sounding more gentle than Chloe had ever heard him. “Give your pride a rest.”

It was probably a measure of Lucifer’s exhaustion that he didn’t have a comeback for that.

Chloe drove the car up as close to him as she dared, then they helped him walk to it on bloodied feet, where he called shotgun without actually saying anything by plunging himself down into the passenger seat, leaving Amenadiel and Maze to arrange themselves in the back. Then Lucifer found a bottle of water in the glove compartment and gulped down its entire contents over Chloe’s protests to go slow. When she reached across him to strap him in, he was already asleep.

 

* * *

 

He woke up with a start to Amenadiel trying to hoist him up into his arms. “What are you doing, you oaf?” he sputtered. “Put me _down._ I’m not a child. Haven’t been for eons. I can _manage._ ”

And he did manage, barely, to hobble into the elevator, Maze and Amenadiel hovering, ready to catch him, and from the elevator into his bed, where he collapsed face-first and didn’t stir when Amenadiel and Chloe arranged the pillows and covers around him to make him comfortable while Maze made a detour to the bar.

Chloe caught the black man’s eyes across Lucifer’s motionless body, and her mind stalled again.

Brothers. Lucifer was the Devil. Famously, a Fallen Angel. That made Amenadiel an _angel_ . A literal _angel_.

_“... why my brother is so saintly…”_

“I…” she began, then stopped. She’d been about to apologize for acting inappropriately in the presence of divinity, but in truth, she could not recall any concrete thing she might have said or done wrong. If anything, Amenadiel had been the one acting funny, or even just awkward.

Well. The way she’d come to know him, the Devil was basically an overgrown teenager with enormous daddy issues, no sense of proper social conduct, and an inability to understand his own emotions. If she had to decide whether he was good or evil, though, she’d come down firmly on the side of “good”.

So much for all that biblical nonsense about the Devil being the source of all evil. With that in mind, angels were probably not like they were described in the Good Book, either. Amenadiel certainly wasn’t. And right now, he was acting more like a concerned brother than like a divine being, which was something she could relate to.

“....Thank you,” she finally said. “For helping me find him.”

He smiled. “No thanks necessary. If anything, I should be thanking you. You’ve been… good for him. He’s changed since he met you, and for the better.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just returned his smile.

Maze stalked in, holding a glass with an amber liquid in it. She halted when she found Lucifer asleep. “Oh.” Shrugging, she downed the drink herself.

Chloe rolled her eyes at Maze’s bedside manner, but then again, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. And by the way, oh yeah that’s right, Maze was a fucking _demon_.

She’d let a demon babysit her daughter. She’d let the Devil drive her daughter around in his car.

And she had a photo of Maze and Trixie cuddling on the sofa, asleep. She’d seen the Devil and a priest playing piano four-hands, had witnessed his rage and grief at the priest’s death. She’d kissed the Devil, and he’d been so hesitant to kiss her back, but his kiss had been so sweet.

Demons, the Devil. Not evil, none of them. How could humanity get it all so wrong?

She cleared her throat. “He needs water, Maze, not booze.” In-between all this low-key freaking out, she realized that shouldn’t lose track of what really mattered. “In fact, we should wake him up and make him drink some more water, and maybe clean him up a bit. He’ll hate having all that sand in his bed.”

She turned to The Actual Devil, currently dead to the world with his face smashed into one of his pillows, his patrician nose squished a little to one side, breathing noisily through the obstruction. _Behold fearsome Satan._ “Right,” she said. “I’ll wake him up, one of you two bring me a jug of water. Just water.”

 

* * *

 

### Chapter 3 - Revealing

Lucifer slept for twelve hours, with brief interruptions to guzzle more water, munch on some dry toast, or totter to the bathroom. Maze had gone back to the hospital and to Linda, and Amenadiel had left to do whatever it was he did.

Afraid to let Lucifer out of her sight and lose him again to masked assailants (and, yeah, to make sure he would be okay), Chloe stayed with him while her clothes dried, doing some paperwork to pass the time constructively. But mostly, she spent it thinking.

So, there really was a God, and He was Lucifer’s - and Amenadiel’s - father. Heaven and Hell existed. So did the Devil, and he was her partner, whom she’d kissed, who was right now sleeping like a log in the next room. (He’d had sand in his hair, and in his feathers. (Feathers!) She’d gotten drenched helping him get rid of it while he stood motionless in his shower stall with his back to her, exhausted, supporting himself with both forearms against the wall resting his forehead on his folded hands, while she ran her hands first through his wet hair and then through his wet feathers and watched the sand swirl down the drain. Afterwards, he’d kept trying to drink whisky instead of water. “You’re no fun, Detective,” he’d whined when she took the whiskey bottle away from him for the third time, only to fall asleep again five minutes after having downed another jug of water. He looked adorable when he slept. (The Devil. Adorable.))

 _Nothing will change when he tells you_ , Linda had told her. _Just your perception._

Lucifer, her dorky and beautiful and exasperating Lucifer, was the Devil. (The Devil had wings.) By inference, Heaven and Hell existed. There really was a God (and He seemed to be a lousy parent). She’d need to re-think the whole Charlotte thing.

And speaking of re-thinking, seemed like she really had an immortal soul to take care of. (She’d see her dad again someday.) Wait. Would she go to Hell, what with all the people she’d shot in the line of duty? She’d tried to live her life according to the principles of good and evil. She considered herself a good person. But she had killed. That was apparently a big no-no. Was her soul tarnished? Should she convert, start going to confession? Should she quit the LAPD and take a job that didn’t involve guns so much?

_Nothing will change._

She loved her job, even though it was dangerous, or maybe because it was. She did love helping people. Sometimes, that involved shooting bad people (to keep her partner safe (who was the actual Devil)). She got results, because they were a good team (because she had the Devil on her team), and she wasn’t going to stop being a cop just because she’d learned that she had a soul. No. She liked the status quo. She liked having the Devil on her team. (And maybe _(not just maybe, don’t lie to yourself, Decker!)_ she’d like having him more in her private life as well (even though he was the Devil).)

 _Nothing will change._ Nothing needed to change.

She’d never gone to church. There probably was no need to start, either, what with the Bible having gotten so many other things wrong (demons, angels, the Devil). Besides, she spent most of her days with her partner, who was a Fallen Angel and thus Divinity, and didn’t need to visit the house of God in order to renew her faith. Besides, it’s not faith if you know it’s true. _(That’s_ what Ella had meant!)

She looked up when she heard movement in Lucifer’s bedroom, just in time to see him get out of bed and saunter in the direction of his bathroom. Naked.

Indeed, nothing had changed. Except for the scars on his back - they were gone. Because he had his wings back, she realized. He was healed. Whole.

“Need any help?” she asked, raising her voice a little when he disappeared from her sight.

“You know, Detective,” he shouted back, “you make it really difficult for me to resist the obvious response to that one, but no, I believe I am up to the task.”

She blushed and cleared her throat.

 

* * *

 

“You’re still here,” Lucifer stated, sounding surprised.

He had reappeared half an hour later, wings hidden, dressed in his black silk robe, showered, groomed, and bright-eyed, but still moving stiffly.

“I wanted to keep my eye on you,” Chloe said, trying to sound casual. “Somebody did mug you three days ago. They might try again.”

“No, I meant…. I didn’t think you’d want to be around me for a while. Possibly never again. I mean, you must have finally realized by now what I am.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Not the way I’d planned on letting you know. My idea was simply telling you.”

“You’ve _told_ me many times before,” she reminded him, motioning for him to sit down on the sofa. His feet were bare, and from their still healing injuries, she could deduce what the rest of him must be looking like. He might not be human, but even he couldn’t recover so fast, she didn’t think.

He sat, his posture controlled, uneasy. “I know. You’re annoyingly selective about what you do and do not believe. I would have been very persuasive, though.”

She gave him a smile, willing him to relax. “I didn’t want to believe it before, you really being the Devil. That would have opened a whole can of worms I didn’t want to touch. But I got it now. Can’s open. And I’m not running away, as you can see.”

“Yes.” He returned the smile, still tentative. “You must be in denial. Or maybe the desert heart fried your brain.”

She nodded, ignoring his quip with the ease of practice. “Yeah. I am in denial. I refuse to believe that I should suddenly stop wanting you around.”

That gave him pause for a second, then he snorted. “Detective. I am the Devil. Linda locked her door against me for a week after I showed her and is still prone to getting off track because of it. At the very least, I’d have expected you to keep your gun within reach.”

“My gun.”

“Yes! We both know that I can be injured when you’re around.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not gonna shoot you, Lucifer. Like I said, I knew who you are before now. Not what, maybe, but who. And who you are isn’t someone I’d shoot on sight just because you exist.” Something he had said came back to her. “Wait. You said you ‘showed’ Linda. I thought you only got your wings back just now.”

He made a funny face and looked away. “The wings aren’t enough for you, are they.”

“Lucifer.”

He sighed and met her gaze. “I know. Enough evasions. Enough half-truths. Linda was right. You must have a choice, Detective, and you only truly have one if you have all the facts. I promised you _all_ the facts. Not just the pretty ones.” He breathed deeply again, visibly steeling himself.

She gave him an expectant look.

“When I told you that I couldn’t offer horns or a tail as proof, I left out something that I could have shown you instead,” he said, holding her gaze. “I didn’t want to show you that because I was convinced that it would send you running for the hills, like it does everyone else.” He looked away briefly. “I’m still convinced it will.”

She nodded curtly. “What you showed Linda.” _What you showed Linda, but didn’t show me,_ she didn’t say out loud.

“Yes.” He breathed again. “Seeing it almost drove her catatonic. I couldn’t take that risk with you. I didn’t _want_ to take that risk with you. I… can’t bear the thought of you turning from me in fear and disgust. Not you.”

She nodded again, more fondly this time. She still didn’t think she would have run, but she had to take his word that he had thought she might. As open as he had always been about being the Devil, she could believe that he might have hesitated about being quite so open. “So, you, what, have another look, but it’s not horns and a tail?” Like, what? Pointed ears? Fangs and claws? Those wouldn’t be so scary.

“Yes.” He gestured at himself. “This is a disguise, a glamour. It’s not real. It’s what I used to look like, before Dad cast me out and turned me into what I am now. You might say it’s a lie of sorts. The only lie I tell.”

She looked at him, at his handsome face, his perfectly coiffed, nearly black hair, his artful dark stubble, his expressive chocolate brown eyes surrounded by those ridiculous, long, thick, black lashes, his aquiline nose, his sensual mouth, the perfect bone structure of his face. She saw, too, the healing bruises and rashes, the places where his skin was still peeling. “It looks real,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a bloody good glamour,” he said, smiling a little.

Pride, she remembered. The Devil’s favorite sin. “Would you let me see it, Lucifer?” she said gently. “Let me see what’s beneath it. Please.”

He breathed again, in and out, then he nodded slowly. “That was the promise.”

She composed herself, waiting.

“I want you to know that I would never harm you,” he blurted. “If you want me to leave, after, and never see me again, I’ll understand. I’ll leave, for good this time. I’ll be out of your life, forever, if that’s what you want. You have my word. But please know that I’d never harm you or anyone you love. I’m not after your soul or anything. I won’t -”

“Lucifer.” She reached out and took one of his hands. It felt very warm to her touch. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard, tearing down walls. It’s hard for me, too, but it must be so much worse for you. I know. I have my own disguise, and it’s my cop face. It’s comfortable, hiding behind walls. It’s safe. Nothing can get to you. If you tear them down, though, you put yourself out there for others to hurt. That’s scary.”

He looked at her, eyes wide open, focused on every word.

“I know it’s not the same for you as it is for me,” she went on. “For you, it’s a literal disguise, one you’ve had for so long now, and you’re afraid of my reaction to seeing the real you. That’s natural. Like I said, it’s hard for me too, letting someone in, letting someone else see the soft, squishy side of me, being vulnerable. But, Lucifer, the reward is worth it. If you let someone in who understands and won’t judge and won’t hurt you - even though you’re convinced that they _will_ hurt you -, then it’s the best thing in the world.” She gently squeezed his fingers. “I told you I know the real you, whatever your form may look like, and I accept and forgive all your flaws. I stand by that. Trust that. Trust me.”

He continued to look at her after she’d fallen silent, his indecision and fear plain to see in his eyes. But the Devil was no coward, and there was only one way to go now - forward. He nodded, squeezed her hand, once, briefly, then let go. “Very well, Detective.” He sounded composed, resigned, and scared, all at the same time.

She wanted to tell him that it would be alright, but she left the words unsaid. She couldn’t in good conscience promise him that - she didn’t know what it was she’d see now. Maybe his fear wasn’t unfounded. Maybe the Devil’s true form really was too shocking to behold. Maybe Linda was just unusually resilient.

No horns, no tail. What could he possibly look like? What could be so frightening?

A memory hit her, of a dark warehouse, Lucifer advancing on a suspect, a brief reflection of a red, demonic visage with glowing eyes, and she realized what she had actively refused to realize for so long.

“Are you ready?” he said softly.

She nodded. What she’d seen back then had been frightening, but mainly because it had been unexpected and inexplicable. She could barely remember any details, but at least, she knew now what she needed to prepare for.

He gave her one last sad smile. And then he changed.

His hair disappeared, his skin melted away, his dark irises turned a faintly glowing dark red, his sclera, black. Raw muscle and burn scars and white bone became visible where his smooth, fair skin had been, all coalescing into a reddish, scorched, devilish visage.

It wasn’t as bad as her half-suppressed memory had made it seem. Maybe seeing it back then, if only briefly, had subconsciously prepared her for the reality of seeing it now.

The transformation was still inexplicable, but she wasn’t scared. On the contrary; her first instinct, on seeing his burned-looking, hairless skull, was to call an ambulance. There was no way that he could be okay, not looking like that. She realized dimly that she’d raised one hand to her mouth and that her throat had seized on a sound, but not on one of horror, rather one of sympathy.

But, no, she wasn’t scared of him. If anything, she was scared for him.

“Oh, God,” she finally gasped.

He flinched and changed back to his familiar form, his dark eyes wide.

She took a breath, and another one. “Oh God,” she said again, “are you in pain? That looks…. What _happened_ to you?”

He kept looking at her, clearly waiting for something. When it didn’t happen, whatever it was, he relaxed marginally. “Yes, well. Dad clearly felt that I needed to be taken down a peg or a few hundred thousand. He can be incandescent in His anger.” His eyes didn’t move from hers, like a munitions expert fearing that the allegedly defused bomb might detonate after all.

“That’s….” Words failed her. That anyone could do this to anyone, let alone a father to his son, was unspeakable. She raised her hand towards his face. “Does it hurt?” When he didn’t make a move to prevent her, she gently touched the tips of her fingers to his brow, feeling only smooth, perfect, warm human skin.

He pulled back to stare at her in disbelief. “Is this some kind of delayed shock? Are you quite alright, Detective?”

She nodded. “Hmhm. Fine. I’m fine. I’m asking about you. Lucifer, does it hurt?”

His tension relaxed visibly, but didn’t ease completely. “You truly are a miracle.” He shook his head. “If I’d known you’d take it like this, I’d have just shown you my face instead of making you shoot me back then. Especially since that didn’t work so well to prove anything.”

She gave up asking about whether he was in pain at that point. If he evaded like that, if he didn’t say no, then he was. He was in pain. He just didn’t want to admit it. And since he never lied, his only recourse was saying nothing. “So,” she said, shelving the subject for later, “what else do I need to know?”

He snorted, smiling briefly. “Straight to the point, as usual. All right. How about I tell you the rest over dinner? Or lunch, or whatever mealtime is right now? I’m starving.”

 

* * *

 

### Chapter 4 - Explaining

Almost two hours later, and she _still_ hadn’t run away.

Lucifer wondered how long humans could possibly take to process revelations of this magnitude. He was used to them responding with horror immediately when they saw his nastier side, and the fact that the detective had not done anything of the sort was making him nervous. The best he’d hoped for had been a reaction similar to Doctor Linda’s. He’d been prepared for that.

He’d been prepared for much worse.

Yet, here she was, hours after the fact, listening to him talk, eating the food they’d cooked together (that she’d seen him touch with his Devil’s hands), not avoiding his eyes, even smiling at him (even though she knew now what he really looked like). Could he trust this? How long should he wait until he could safely allow himself to trust this? Was two hours enough time for the other shoe to drop? Or was she merely holding it together for his sake?

If so, he had to convince her somehow that she didn’t have to pretend with him. She’d seen his true face. The least he could do in return was show her that he could stand to look beyond her walls, too. If she felt like freaking out a bit, then he’d gladly let her yell at him, punch him, even shoot him. That way, he’d at least be on more familiar ground.

Maybe it would help if he located her gun and got in within her reach? Poke the Detective, so to speak?

Then he noticed her service gun in its holster lying on the bar, where it had apparently been this whole time, well within her reach.

Oh. Detective already poked.

“What is it?” she asked, again giving him one of her gentle smiles, the kind that made him feel all soft and buttery inside, like indigestion, only much nicer; the kind that stung at the back of his eyes.

It took him a second to remember how to form English sentences. “Just wondering about your mental state, Detective. You’re usually much quicker on the uptake.”

Her smile turned less fond and more exasperated, but it was still a smile, and therefore no less treasured. “Told you I’m fine.” She put down her fork to reach out and lay her hand on his. “I promise I’m not gonna freak out, Lucifer. You really can relax.”

He looked down at his hand covered by hers. The contact was electrifying, much more than it had any right to be. He couldn’t help but wonder what sex would be like with her.

But he was getting way ahead of himself with that line of thought. Potential freak-out about him really being the Devil aside, there was one important topic he hadn’t covered yet. She might yet decide that he, this whole thing, wasn’t worth the effort. In fact, he couldn’t imagine her _not_ doing so eventually.

“I’m going to relax when I’ve told you everything and you’re still here,” he said, looking up again.

She took her hand back. “That wasn’t all?” she asked, eyes wide. Such beautiful eyes; windows to such a beautiful soul.

“No. I haven’t gone into your role in all this yet.” He had talked about himself, about his Fall, about his siblings, about both his parents, about his life in Hell, about his life in the Silver City, about how she affected him, about what he’d done and what bargains he’d had to strike, about everything she needed to know, except for one thing. He still hadn’t told her about the part she herself was playing, all unknowing.

She nodded, holding back any remark she might have made, which told Lucifer more eloquently than words that she was indeed censoring herself, and her reactions.

He sighed and forged ahead. “My Father made it possible for you to exist, Detective. Not in the way He allowed all humans to exist, though. You, specifically, were brought into being because Amenadiel blessed your mother, who was unable to conceive, on Dad’s instruction. That has never happened before or since.”

He went on explaining about free will, about how he doubted that she had it, and what that meant for the two of them, for their “thing”, all the while watching her reactions.

She listened with that small frown of concentration between her perfect brows, taking in all the facts, nodding occasionally to show her comprehension. “So,” she finally said, “I was made for you, literally, and because of that, just to be contrary apparently, you ran away and married that glitzy stripper -” she raised her hand to overrule him when he opened his mouth to interject at this point - “because you think that my feelings aren’t real? Because you wanted to, what, protect me from you? Am I getting this right?”

He nodded, regarding her uncertainly. Was that suppressed fury? Would he now get shot after all?

“So,” she went on, “by wanting to give me a choice, you instead took away my choice. You decided for both of us. You left, Lucifer. Without any explanation. After we’d had our moment. Just gone. Do you have any idea how much that _hurt?_ ” Unshed tears were glistening in her large eyes.

“No,” he said truthfully, wincing at the pain in her eyes. “I can’t know how you felt. But I certainly didn’t intend to hurt you. I left because I thought you’d be better off if you were able to live your life without my Dad’s influence. Without my influence.”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, showing teeth. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead Devil now.

“I realize that I may have misjudged the extent of the pain I caused, and I’m sorry,” he said hastily. Getting shot was looking more and more likely. And bloody hell, seemed like all he was doing lately was apologize.

She closed her eyes and balled her fists, and he had the vivid impression that what she really wanted to do was strangle him, not shoot him.

He probably shouldn’t mention how adorable she was right now, how utterly desirable. Not while his neck was within her reach. He’d seen her manhandle enough suspects to respect her skills, and he was vulnerable in her presence.

“I really need to keep in mind how new you are to all this, Lucifer,” she ground out, “and that it’s your parents and their inability to teach you proper social interaction that I should be blaming, not you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that beyond ‘thank you for not strangling me’, and that sounded unnecessarily flippant, so he opted for not saying anything. Doctor Linda would be so proud of him.

Linda. He’d pay her another visit as soon as he could stay on his feet for longer than ten minutes. Not that he’d admit to any weakness out loud, of course.

“Okay,” the detective went on, much calmer than before, “so you think I don’t have free will. Let’s stick with that for the moment. That’s why you asked me whether our thing was real. That’s why you left without a word.”

He nodded, realizing that she was once again boxing in her feelings. The times he’d seen her with her walls truly down had been few and far between, and he wondered what it would take for her to trust him enough with what she had called her ‘soft, squishy side’. “I couldn’t explain any of this before because you wouldn’t have believed me. But yes, I think that my Father influenced you to have certain feelings for me, for the purpose of manipulating me into also having feelings for you. I’m vulnerable when I’m near you, Detective. What better way to punish me than to make me bind myself to my personal kryptonite?”

She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“I couldn’t let that happen,” he went on when she didn’t say anything. “I couldn’t interfere with your life like this. I got cast out of Heaven because I wanted free will. I cut off my wings for free will. It’s at the core of what makes life worth living. I couldn’t stay around if being near you meant that you didn’t have full control over your life, that you were made to feel things for me that weren’t real. That would be a lie. That was _not_ what I Fell for.” He snorted in self-reproach. “Well. It didn’t stick, did it. I couldn’t stay away for long. Not strong enough. Then Mum happened to Linda -” the thought of Linda, so small and so hurt in her hospital bed, brought a flash of rage that he could barely keep from reaching his eyes - “... and almost to you, too.”

She was looking at him oddly. Maybe he hadn’t quite kept the hellfire out of his eyes.

He took a breath to calm himself. “That’s when I realized that I needed to tell you everything, so you could decide whether you wanted me around, with all the consequences, all the danger that this would entail. Informed choice, and all that.”

She nodded, face neutral. “Okay.”

He blinked. “‘Okay’?” Surely, it couldn’t be that easy. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said? You only exist for my sake. Your feelings aren’t real. You are my Father’s pawn. How can that be ‘okay’?”

She grimaced with something he thought might be pain, and it made something contract inside him. “It wouldn’t be, if it were true,” she said.

“Detective -”

She held up her hand, and, as was his wont, he allowed her to silence him. “I don’t believe that I’m a pawn. I may have been put here by design - crazy thought that, but let’s work with it for now, and Mom did use to call me her little miracle when I was small, so -, but everything else is just your conjecture, Lucifer. You’re bitter about your Dad, and with very good reason from what I’ve heard, but it’s clouding your judgement. You think God makes everything work against you, always. It predisposes you towards certain conclusions.”

“It’s not paranoia if your father really is out to get you, Detective,” he quipped.

She briefly compressed her lips, which had the same effect on him as it had always had, and he had to force himself to focus. “Has it occurred to you that He may be trying to fix things between Him and you and just not be doing a very good job?”

“After literally billions of years of silence? No. Never.”

She picked her fork back up and resumed eating. Good thing their meal was a cold one. Preparing a cold meal in the first place had been good thinking on his part, he thought with a thrill of pride.

“Here’s an alternative theory,” she said after swallowing down her mouthful. “Your father put me on this Earth, but He also made me a certain way. Able to resist your mojo, unimpressed by your powers, thus able to see the real you without the devilish charm. I’m the only human able to do all that, right?” She gave him a strange little smile, and he wondered what she saw in him that could make her smile at him like that. “When we first met, I thought you were a self-aggrandizing weirdo with a few tricks up his sleeve, nothing more. I did realize, though, how much it confused you that you couldn’t charm me.”

He smiled, remembering. She’d been a puzzle that he couldn’t solve, a fascinating conundrum that defied his powers. How uncomplicated things had still been in those days.

“I didn’t like you very much at first, but you did get results, so I let you work cases with me. I did notice things happening that I couldn’t explain; your eye voodoo, your super strength, you suddenly being elsewhere, the getting out of handcuffs thing. Then I saw the scars on your back, your true face in a reflection, and I was almost ready to believe that you really are the Devil when you goaded me into shooting you, but your Father apparently put in another failsafe - He made you vulnerable around me. I saw you bleed, and there went any chance of me believing you. The Devil doesn’t bleed. Or so I thought.”

He smiled again. He had noticed her change in attitude back then, the way she had stopped asking questions about him. She must have decided he was simply a little off his rocker.

She hadn’t been the only one going on wrong assumptions. At the time, he had thought he was becoming mortal because of too much exposure to humans. But no, it was her, and her alone, that made him vulnerable. And apparently, all that had been part of Dad’s plan.

It made sense. Maybe she was right.

“So,” she went on, “I was free to get to know you without all the supernatural trappings, without the whole ‘oh-my-God-my-partner’s-the-Devil’. And guess what, I realized after a while that you’re really just a messed-up guy trying to do his best. An overgrown teenager with daddy issues and a heart of gold. Like I said, our thing goes beyond work. Way beyond, now. And Trixie likes you. She’s a decent asshole detector, so there’s that.”

She paused, eating some more, giving Lucifer time to digest her words.

The way she put it, there really didn’t seem to have been any divine interference with her feelings. A small chance remained that it might have been too subtle for her to notice, but she was a damned good detective, and her instincts were good enough. Also, and more importantly, he had to admit that Dad rarely went for subtle. He was more the Floods and angelic appearance kind of meddler. If the detective hadn’t heard even a single prophetic dream or disembodied voice speak to her this entire time, then maybe she really did have free will.

He was almost ready to believe that his own feelings for her were real. Was it possible that hers were real, too? Maybe this whole thing really was real.

And there was the treacherous spark of hope lighting up in his chest again. Bloody hell. Hadn’t he _only just_ put it out?

“So,” she went on, oblivious to the way Lucifer’s world was getting brighter by the second, “maybe I’ve been put here so we could meet, me immune to your supernatural powers, you mortal next to me, both of us basically on the same level. Really getting to know each other without the barriers of being human and Celestial. Lucifer, maybe I’m not a pawn sent to destroy you. Maybe I’m a gift of reconciliation to you.”

Yep, flame on in his chest, bugger it all. “That wouldn’t be much better, Detective,” he said desperately. He hated hope. Hope was insidious, took root in your chest against your will, and always ended in pain. “All humans, but especially you, deserve better than being a gift to anyone. You’re your own person, not something given away like some human olive branch.”

She looked up at him. “You know what, you’re right.”

He didn’t know whether to be relieved that all hope was lost, or to mourn its impending demise.

“I’m not a gift to anyone,” she went on. “I am my own person. I _have_ free will. I was ready before to open myself up to you _of my own free will_ . Events put a pause on that, then you pulled that Candy stunt. I was ready to let you go then, you know, _because I have free will._ But now you’ve explained it all I find that my feelings for you have come out unchanged. Not even you really being the Devil changes anything.” She smiled the flirty smile he loved so much, lighting his stupid heart on fire, full-on blaze this time. It would take more strength than he had left right now to put it out again. “There’s that saying - ‘I was made for you’. It’s another way of saying ‘I love you’. So. Let’s just see where this takes us, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

### Chapter 5 - Accepting

He was looking at her like she had a halo above her head.

When, thirty seconds later, he still hadn’t moved or said anything, Chloe wondered whether she’d broken him. And, yeah, she supposed that it was hard, trying to un-believe things you had believed for so long. Maybe she should give him a little time to adjust.

But he smiled suddenly, the way he he had smiled at her over burgers and fries and no ketchup. “If all humans were like you, Chloe Jane Decker, I’d never have been able to give my apple away back then.”

Him calling her by her full name while looking at her like that gave her an unexpected rush that rose to her face and settled in her chest, even stealing her breath a little. Helplessly, she returned his smile. “Just trying to do what’s right,” she muttered, or thought she did. She could deal with his flirting - she’d had a lot of practice -, but as it turned out, his honest compliments completely floored her.

His smile turned less intense and more tender. “Is that a blush, Detective?” he said softly, sounding less smug than she would have expected. All this baring of souls (and true faces) clearly had stripped him of some of his facade, and she found she liked what she saw beneath.

“Anyway,” she said firmly, partly to keep herself in check and mostly because she thought she could see him sagging a little, “you should get some more rest, Lucifer. Devil or no, you must be exhausted after all this talking, not to mention this whole desert thing.” _And getting your wings back._

His wings. What with him looking like a fresh burn victim and still not trusting their thing and all, she had completely forgotten about his wings. He had explained how he was currently hiding them from human view (she hadn’t completely understood it all, but since it obviously worked, she wasn’t questioning it), but now that she’d remembered them, she missed them.

He opened his mouth as if about to protest, but she cut him off.

“Everything else will keep until you’ve recovered. Go. I’ll clean up here.”

His expression turned into something both wary and pleading.

She had seen a remarkably similar look on Trixie’s face often enough to guess what was wrong. “I’ll still be here when you wake up, I promise. I’m really not running for the hills.”

He nodded cautiously, then smiled a strangely shy smile. “It’s a big bed, Detective. It’s been a long day for you, too.”

Her first instinct was to say no to the implied offer. “I’m not the one who was nearly dying in the desert, Lucifer.”

He raised his eyebrows, widening his eyes. Not the look of an experienced seducer, Chloe thought, rather the look of someone afraid of rejection. “It’s okay to be tired after hours of worrying and searching,” he said, “not to mention staying here the whole time watching me sleep. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

She must have looked at him suspiciously, because he added, “I promise I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. I can’t believe I’d ever say this, but I’m only inviting you into my bed to sleep, because it’s more comfortable than the couch. No ulterior motive. You can trust me.”

She looked at her watch and was amazed to realize that, yes, she’d been awake more than twenty-four hours. And, yes, she knew she could trust him. Strangely enough, now that she knew that he really was the Devil, she trusted him more than she had when she still thought he was delusional.

“Come on,” he said, getting to his feet.

She noticed how stiffly he moved, and that clinched it for her. “Alright,” she said, “if it’ll get you in bed and asleep, I’m all for it.”

“We have a deal, Detective.”

 

* * *

 

She must have slept like the dead, because when she next opened her eyes, it was light again outside.

With a sense of déjà vu, she raised her head to check the chair at the foot of the bed, but it was empty of any leering devils about to make any smart-ass remarks about Rosemary’s Baby. Instead, the Devil was fast asleep in the bed next to her, curled up on his side, facing her.

Rolling over, she studied his relaxed features, noting how he looked almost harmless without the animation in his eyes and the near constant movement of his face. His bruises and scrapes were fading; his lips had regained their normal fullness and color. He looked, she decided, human and healthy (but only because she couldn’t see his wings. She needed to see his wings again).

Waking up next to Lucifer. (For the first time. (The first of many…?))

He didn’t stir when she got out of bed and draped the duvet back over him, only showing signs of returning wakefulness after she had showered and dressed and was checking on him before making breakfast.

“You’re still here,” he said again, blinking, sounding as incredulous as he had yesterday.

“Yup,” she simply replied.

He smiled that slightly puzzled smile and shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

It was only when they were seated together over breakfast outside on his balcony that she found the courage to ask. “So,” she said, “what’s the deal with the wings?”

He pressed his lips together. “They’re either a big fuck-you from Dad, or a warning about things to come, or something else I haven’t figured out yet,” he said. “I’m tending towards door number one.”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “Getting your wings back sounds like a good thing to me. Why would it be something your Dad would do to spite you?”

He speared his French toast. “All angels are God’s loyal winged soldiers, at His beck and call, working in His name. He gave me back my wings to say, ‘this is your place, son, stop it with the free will, be an angel like your big brother Amenadiel, who, by the way, always was My favorite son’. Or at least, that’s the way I see it.”

She realized that she was still way out of her depth. Despite the crash course on Celestial beings yesterday, she was obviously missing a lot of context, something she’d always hated. But she knew she wasn’t going to touch the whole ‘favorite son’ bit. Every parent knew that you don’t play favorites. How could a supposedly omniscient being not know how much harm that sort of thing could do?

“Well,” she said, trying to point out alternatives, “could someone else have given you back your wings, then?”

He looked away, a small frown forming between his black brows. “I suppose Mum might have done it, just before she… left.” Her heart broke for him and the sadness in his eyes. He had explained how he would probably never see her again. “I didn’t really feel her doing anything at the time, but she _is_ the Goddess of Creation. It would be child’s play for her.”

“A parting gift, then, maybe,” she said gently. “Not something done to hurt you at all.”

He gave her a soft smile. “Maybe.”

Which, she supposed, was the most she could currently hope for.

She asked the question she’d been dying to ask. “Would you show them to me?”

He looked at her in silence, and for a minute she thought - she feared - he was going to say no. “Why the hell not,” he finally said. “You’ve seen the ugly bits. Might as well see the rest of them.”

“I’ve seen them before,” she reminded him. All bedraggled and covered in sand, then dripping wet in his shower, but she had seen them.

“I know,” he simply said, getting up and standing with his back to the balcony rails, facing her.

And they appeared, spread out behind Lucifer’s back in their full glory.

Where before they had been beautiful, now they were… divine, Chloe decided. That was really the only word to describe their unearthly radiance, their power and sense of near weightlessness as he raised them above his head, pinions fanned out - such incredibly long, perfect feathers.

She got up too and stood in front of him. “May I touch them?” she breathed.

He gave her an amused smile, as if to point out that she’d touched them before, but he didn’t say anything and simply nodded.

Delighted, Chloe raised her hand even as he extended one of his wings towards her. Her fingers encountered warmth, softness, strength and suppleness, but the true impact was not tactile. There was a sense of calm, of belonging, that seemed to radiate out from her hand where she touched his wing, to permeate her whole body until it reached her soul. A sense of being blessed.

Wanting more, she closed her hand about the shoulder of Lucifer’s wing, feeling the hard bones and muscles and sinews beneath the soft covering plumage, the flex of them as he moved his wing to fold it and its twin around her. Before she knew it, she had stepped into his arms, closing hers about his waist, feeling him fold his arms and his wings around her, enveloping her with himself, his tall, broad-shouldered body easily encompassing her and his wings enfolding her.

She had never known such peace.

Instinctively, she let her hands travel up Lucifer’s back until they reached the place where his wings were rooted, carding the fingers of both hands into the feathers there and stroking down, again and again, feeling their softness. His breathing deepened, and he sighed in pleasure, his breath warm along her neck.

He was looking at her as she looked up to meet his eyes, all hesitation in them gone. Whatever he felt from her touch seemed to have banished his doubts, and she was glad. She didn’t think she’d be able to step back from this again. They’d been here before, after all, but then it had been too soon. He’d backed off, and in hindsight, it had probably been for the best. There had been too much uncertainty to build anything solid on then.

But now, with everything out in the open, it was time. Time to move forward, to learn to love again, in her case, and to love for the first time, in his. Time for both of them to let the other one look beneath their beautiful facades. Time to stop saying no.

“It’s real this time, right?” he said softly.

She smiled. “Yes, Lucifer. I swear this is real.”

He gave her the soft, artless smile the world saw so rarely. “I’d thank Dad for that, but…” He trailed off.

“Not His doing,” she confirmed. And then she took hold of his face and pulled his head down so she could finally kiss him again.

* * *

Inspired by

 

 

 

 


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